The Dawning
by Scribomaniac
Summary: For the past three years life for Chloe had been great. She was in school, living with Derek, and finally living her life. But just because there are no more outside threats that doesn't mean old demons can't arise. And what's Chloe to do when the enemy isn't something she can physically fight, but her own mind? (Sequel to The Ending)
1. Chapter 1

I woke up with a jolt. A thick layer of cold sweat covering my neck and chest from the nightmare I had during the night. Letting out a shuddering breath, I tried to remember what the dream was about, but the more I tried to hang onto the faint whispering memory, the faster it drifted from my mind. I pulled myself up to sit against the headboard and turned my head to look at the still fast asleep werewolf beside me.

Derek let out a thundering snore, something I'd adapted to over the years, before dreamily rubbing his face against his pillow. He slept on his stomach with his pillow curled into a ball and held in place by one of his hands; his other hand was outstretched over the other half of the mattress. My half, to be specific. It was currently thrown over my legs since I'd woken up and shifted from my slumbering pose. Derek loved to cuddle in his sleep. He'd deny it—especially to Simon—if ever asked about it, but the proof was in the pudding. Not a single morning had passed since my return from Edison where I didn't wake up with some form of skin to skin contact.

I loved it.

A soft, scratching noise stole my attention from Derek's sleeping face. Brows crinkling with dread and concern, I carefully slipped out of bed and walked towards the noise. It seemed to be coming from the back door and so with tentative feet, I stepped closer and opened it. Looking down, I sighed sadly. It was a rabbit.

A dead one.

Well, sort of. I must have summoned it in my sleep. I hadn't done that for a while now—thirteen days to be precise. It had been a new record. I thought I was on a roll. "Go back to where you died and—and stay dead," I ordered. The rabbit cocked its head, as if it was thinking about the task, but then hopped its little battered body away from me and back wherever it came from.

A pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around my shoulders from behind and I didn't even hesitate to lean back into Derek's chest. Something deep within him rumbled with satisfaction and I felt a light kiss pressed into the top of my head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "It was just a rabbit. No biggie."

Derek laughed, "Guess we'll have to reset the 'so many days since an animal summons' counter." He gestured to the right of them with his head to a small chalkboard with the number 13 on it. "Don't worry, Chlo', someday we won't have to keep count at all."

"Y—yeah, you're right." Still, it was frustrating. I'd gotten better over the years with practice and, unfortunately, as Edison's test subject, but I still hadn't made it two weeks without my powers somehow flaring up in one way or another. I leaned more onto Derek, wishing he could take away all my anxiety.

He kissed the top of my head again before pulling away, "Since we're already up, wanna grab some Dunkin' Donuts on the way to class?"

After we took down Edison, ensuring they'd never be able to track us down again, we moved to California. That was three years ago, and two years ago Derek, Simon and I enrolled in University of California San Diego. Tori was still nearby, of course, but she never was one to be shackled down. She needed to spread her wings and be independent. So she enrolled in Santa Monica College two hours away in L.A. The city lifestyle definitely suited her.

Kit even lived in L.A., too. It served as a dual purpose, really. He was nearby Tori in case anything happened, and was able to find work at an engineering firm in the city. I think it was a tough choice for Kit, whether to stay with Derek, Simon, and me in San Diego, or go to L.A. to keep an eye on Tori, but in the end I think he bowed to the old aged saying of 'strengths in numbers'. Derek, Simon, and I all had one another to lean back and depend on, but if Tori was in trouble, she'd be all alone. So Kit decided to stay within hollering distance of his daughter and driving distance of his sons.

It seemed to be working, since the most trouble we've been in the past few years has been deciding what to order for dinner.

Derek, Simon, and I lived in a small, two story rental home just a couple blocks off campus. Between the three of us and our part time jobs, the rent was more than affordable, and it came with its own laundry appliances, which was a huge plus in my opinion.

Laundromats were the worst.

It was only two bedrooms, but since Derek and I refused to sleep separated from one another anymore, that wasn't really a deal breaker. The second floor was all one bedroom and the second one was on the ground floor; another nice feature for when Simon brought a girl home with him, or for when Derek and I wanted some . . . alone time.

After agreeing that donuts were a great idea, the two of us hustled back down the hallway and into our room. Half an hour later we were sitting in Derek's Ford Focus play-fighting over the radio as we waited in the drive through line for deliciousness.

"You got to choose the station yesterday!" He whines, looking at me with his huge puppy dog eyes.

"Only because you got it for two days straight before!" I argued back, trying to use all my strength to push his fingers away from the radio controls. Needless to say it wasn't making much difference.

Derek glanced up at the line and moved the car forward a few inches before returning his attention to the real important matter, "That doesn't count! We were visiting Tori and Dad. No way was I gonna listen to freaking One Direction for two hours!"

"One Direction is great, you watch your mouth!" Though it wasn't really the same without Zayne, but whatever. Eventually the line moved up enough for us to pay for our treats, which meant Derek was distracted with that, and I successfully staked my claim over the radio station. A Ke$ha song was on. Derek groaned.

He hated Ke$ha.

I just laughed and grabbed the bag of baked goods and cardboard tray with two coffees, immediately taking a sip of mine. Derek asked for his, and I gave it to him. He always drank his coffee straight up black with no additions. It was gross. Good thing he always chewed on some gum afterwards, or else I don't think I'd be able to kiss him without gagging.

By the time we arrived to class, the donuts were devoured, Derek's coffee was completely gone, but mine was still half full. It'd be nice to have it in class. Derek and I decided to take a class called 'Supernaturals and How to Spot Them' as an elective. We thought it'd be a laugh.

It wasn't.

The professor was a complete kook who knew absolutely nothing about the actual supernatural community, but still gave us tons of homework every week. We'd have dropped it weeks ago, but we had nothing else to fill the gap it'd create in our semester hours, and we need at least twelve to remain full time students. Usually we just ignored the professor during lecture and scrolled on websites. I preferred Instagram, but Derek was a Reddit and Twitter sort of guy. We'd been skipping in the beginning of the semester, but I guess too many people were doing the same thing because he started taking attendance a week ago—and that now counted for 30 percent of our final grade.

Professor Wiley walked in, his hair piece bouncing dangerously with every step he took, and he logged in to the computer and booted up the overhead projector for his power point. A cartoon ghost appeared on the screen and I groaned. Derek choked out a laugh. He had to hide his smiling face in the crook of his arm and I jabbed him sharply—not that it'd hurt him—in the ribs.

Professor Wiley clicked the mouse to go to the next slide and the word 'Necromancer' appeared in large, black words. "Well class," he said in a monotone voice which blasted through the lecture hall thanks to the microphone hooked up to his podium. "Today we'll be diverging from the syllabus yet again—" third time this term, my God, "—and talking about those who can raise the dead. Commonly referred to as Necromancers."

Just what I needed.

 **A/N: I'd just like to say thank you to the** **Guest** **and** **Justrockzyxxx** **for reviewing! Without these two I don't think I would have mustered up the motivation to actually start the sequel. That being said, please review and let me know what you think of it so** **that I know you're interested and want me to continue. You could even just review to say hi-that works too!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I totally forgot what Chloe's last name was when I wrote the last chapter, so I'll be changing the professors last name sometime today, but he's now officially Prof. Wiley. Whoops.**

"Many people believe necromancers are all dark, evil, people that aren't to be trusted. And if you check your emails later today, you'll find a few articles and journals about where and how those rumors came to be. However, like not all Slytherins in that blasted book everyone seems to love so much aren't evil, neither are all necromancers."

I felt myself breath in deeply. Apparently I'd stopped for a few seconds.

"No, necromancers could be just like you and me," Professor Wiley changed slides again. This time words accompanied his childish pictures of ghosts, "they just sometimes summon the dead—most times it's an unfortunate occurrence."

Great, I could feel my ears cheeks burning with embarrassment. I lifted my still luke-warm cup of coffee to try and cover it up.

"Now the word necromancy comes from the late Latin word ' _necromantia'_. Nekros translating roughly to dead body, and manteia meaning prophecy or divination. One of the earliest uses of the word—or at least, the earliest use of it in literature—is the Odyssey. Odysseus visits the realm of the dead for help and thus, becomes a necromancer. It's quite a decent movie, though low budget. I recommend you all watch it. You never know, a detail from it could be an extra credit question on the exam."

Wiley continued on like for another twenty five minutes, informing us all about the origins of necromancy and where you can spot it in the media. I took notes dutifully, but when I looked over at Derek, I could see him playing Trivia Crack on his phone. I used to have the game, too, but deleted it after we'd played twenty games against one another and I hadn't beaten him once. I knew Derek was smarter than me. I didn't need a game rubbing it in my face, thank you very much.

"There have been some debates over what a necromancer's power entails, but most of the supernatural loving community—including Wikipedia—agree that, at the very least, necromancers can see and summon the dead. However, when it comes to summoning the dead, debates arise. Does that mean they can restore life? Or is they can only raise a dead body from the ground and control it—like a zombie puppet? Or, does it not have to do with bodies at all, and a necromancer summons the dead by summoning their ghost or spirit?

"Unfortunately, since these types of people don't exist—" Oh, crap, the blush was back. I squirmed in my seat, making Derek chuckle, "—we can't just ask them, but this way our imagination gets to have a little fun." He paused, expecting chuckles, but the class hadn't realized he'd made a joke or a quip or _whatever_ that was, so he was met with silence.

Awkward silence.

"Right," he coughed; the back feed from the microphone on his podium making it sound much worse than it really was, "Right, well as I was saying, the are many unknown aspects of this ancient and seemingly dark person, but another aspect—a key aspect, in my opinion, is the theories on the mentality of such a person."

I sucked in a sharp breath, sure I'd be holding it for a while now, and Derek immediately stilled. The timer on his game ran out, but he didn't care. If he were in wolf form, I'm sure his fur would be standing on edge and he'd be growling up a storm.

"What must life be like for such a person who calls upon the dead? Why do they do it? Do they miss a loved one who's passed? Are they interested in using the dead to command the living? In many different forms over the years that humanity has walked the earth, one thing can be said for certain: that those whose thoughts linger on the dearly departed will not have a good life themselves.

"Think about it, if you had the ability to talk to someone from the grave, to bring someone you loved back from the cold earth, wouldn't you take it? The thing with necromancy is, however, that it's not real. It doesn't last. Even if they could bring a person back from the dead—whole heartedly and completely back from the dead—I still don't believe it'd be the same as before that person had died. There'd always be a lingering . . . something. Some sadness or despair, I believe.

"So these people, the necromancers who willingly and regularly dive into the land of the dead, it takes a toll on them. Something of them, in my opinion—as well as the opinion of many others, mind you, must eat at them after every summoning. It's been agreed upon most of our community that necromancers must walk the fine line between sanity and insanity."

Wiley kept speaking, but I couldn't hear him. I'd been holding my breath for so long now, I'm surprised I haven't passed out. But that thought is fleeting, more of a back burner type of thought, while more pressing issues take hold of my brain. My ears feel fuzzy, a buzzy sound filled them up, and my body felt cold all of a sudden. Wiley wasn't wrong. I'd heard so many stories from my time at the Lyle House, Aunt Lauren, and then again from the Edison group when they held me in their containment labs.

They'd speak of it—in front of me—like people spoke of the weather.

It was why Aunt Lauren joined forces with Edison, after all. Because my uncle was a necromancer and the spirits drove him to suicide. The possibility had crossed my mind, once or twice, but since I'd only had a few mentally unstable moments in the past, I'd always brushed it off.

But . . . I remembered back when we were all living at the Safe House—though it'd hardly been safe—and that lady—I can hardly remember her name, now—had me pull on a spirit in a cemetery. It'd been awful. It'd felt like the entirety of the cemetery was caving in on top of me. Too many spirits had appeared and I'd lost control, causing the ground beneath us to shake and split. The woman, even though Tori still to this day claimed it was her, the woman's, fault, had been terrified by what she'd seen.

By what I could do.

I learned soon after that Tori and I were somehow stronger—or, at least, different—than the average necromancer and witch, and that's why Edison looked so hard for us. For me. They also performed countless MRI and psychological tests on my while I was held captive. Could I be in more danger of going insane because my powers were so much . . . more? Witches had no history of mental instability or disease or defect or _anything_ , though. And Tori obviously never worried about her abilities one day coming back to bite her in the rear.

Maybe I was just being paranoid.

Maybe nothing was wrong with me—or any necromancer, really—maybe some were just overwhelmed with the spirits and had no one to rely on, to share their burdens with. I released my breath and felt a weight lift off my chest. Yes, that was it. It had to be. My lungs burned with lack of oxygen, but I didn't care. It was a good kind of burn. Placing my hand on top of Derek's tightened fist, I noticed that he'd broken his phone and hadn't even realized.

His head snapped up as soon as our skin touched. His eyes met mine and I gave him the softest, surest smile I could muster up. "Hey," I whispered, leaning in so only he could hear me. "Stop freaking out, okay? I'm here and I'm fine. Wiley's a crack—crackpot, anyway, remember? He doesn't know what he's t—talking about."

Derek nodded slowly. I could see the words sinking in. The tension in his shoulders eased dramatically, and the light returned to his dark eyes. He gave me a tentative smile in return. It kept flickering on his lips, threatening to fall, but it made me smile even more. I leaned in and kissed his cheek, letting my lips rest there for a few seconds longer than a cheek kiss really called for, but it did the trick. When I pulled away, Derek's eyes were slightly clouded with desire, and a smirk now graced his lips. I knew that smile.

I loved that smile.

"Wanna get out of here?" He asked, his eye lids still heavy. I nodded and bit down on my lower lip, trying to quell the gigantic, goofy smile I knew would my face was trying to morph in to. I put my notebook away in my backpack and as quietly as we could—which was not very quiet at all—we scurried out of the lecture room and back down to the parking lot to Derek's car with our fingers intertwined.

 **A/N: Thank you** **Justrockzyxxx** **and Ialiceiamagodness** **for reviewing! Everyone-follow their lead. Seriously.**

 **Let me know if there was any tense mishaps or spelling errors that stuck out terribly. I've been writing these at work and I keep getting pulled away every ten seconds or so, so I wouldn't be surprised if I'd made some errors.**


	3. Chapter 3

After Derek and I skipped out on Wiley's class, we walked down a hill to the campus library. Derek's next class wasn't until noon, but my next class was at 9:45, so it made sense to stay on campus and try to get some work done. Derek was taking this opportunity to get ahead of some biochemical engineering project he'd been working on since the first day of school, and I decided to start researching books for my Anthropology paper which was due next week. I'd declared Anthropology as my major after we transferred here. I still didn't know what I wanted to do with it as a career, but I'd figure something out. Maybe I'd even go on to grad school like Derek planned to. He was a BioChem Engineer major, which took up a lot of his free time, but he loved it all the same. Simon also planned on furthering his education, now that I thought about it. He was a double major—art and psychology. He wanted to become a counselor for autistic kids and hoped to use his art as a way to connect with them.

I had to admit, I was kind of jealous of them. They knew what they wanted to do in life, and I . . . didn't. It's not too bad, though, a lot of other students my age don't know what they're doing either. Some are still undeclared, so at least I wasn't that bad off. I hummed softly under my breath as I walked through some stacks and dragged my finger lightly over the spines of the books. I needed four book sources. Which was so annoying because it would make it twice as hard to find the material I needed, as opposed to an internet source that I could just use the search function to find what I needed.

But whatever.

I skimmed through a few books that seemed promising when the light above me went out. I barely even noticed it, really. The lights in the stacks were motion sensored and were always turning off on students. I let out a small grunt of displeasure, though, because without the light I couldn't skim through the book, so I decided to walk back down the stacks to turn the light back on.

I really needed to pay more attention.

I mean, the library had always been a bit chilly, and the lights really _were_ known to flicker, but come on, Chloe! You'd think I'd be more on top of it when a ghost suddenly manifested in the same stack I was standing in. Or that I wouldn't be caught off guard once I looked up and saw the translucent, gruesome spirit of a man. Thankfully I was able to cut off my scream mid-shriek. I didn't need Derek—or anyone else that might've been nearby—to come running. I loved Derek, but there really wasn't anything he could do to help in these cases. Sometimes even I couldn't do anything.

The ghost was relatively young, maybe in his late twenties. He looked familiar for some reason. It was something about his eyes. He probably was attractive when he was alive, but dear God, he looked horrible now. Half his skull was caved in from what must've been a fall from a very tall height. Blood coated half his face and created clumps in his hair, making it stand up at awkward angles. I swallowed thickly, hoping that I wouldn't vomit.

It was a close thing, to be completely honest.

"Umm, h—hello," I greeted. I expected some sort of reaction. Most spirits never shut up. The second they find out you can see them they're on you like butter on bread. This one, though, he just watched him through half lidded eyes. It was pretty creepy. I coughed and tried again, "Can I help you with some—some—anything?"

Again, no response. I bit my lower lip and decided it was time for me to leave. I took a step to the right, to pass him, but he mirrored my step. I tried again, left this time, and he copied again. What's up with this guy! I took a step back and glared at him with all my might. My hands curled into fists and—trying my hardest not to stutter—said, "Look, I don't know what you want, but if you don't leave me alone I'll banish your spirit into a very unpleasant dimension! Don't test me!" Fortunately I hadn't stuttered, unfortunately, though, my voice came out all high pitched and squeaky.

Ugh.

The ghost blinked twice at my threat, titled his head to the side, and let out a sigh. Or, it would've been a sigh had he been alive. "Chloe . . ." His whispy voice said, almost sadly. My eyes widened. How did he know my name? What was _with_ this guy?

"H—how did you know my name?"

He didn't answer, just shook his head and looked away forlornly. Then, without any preamble, disappeared. I stared at the spot he was just standing in for a long time. What was that all about? That ghost was definitely confused. He didn't even know how to be a ghost! Someone should really give him a _How To_ hand book or something. That was kind of pathetic.

The lights flickered back on and I went back and grabbed a handful of books without really looking into whether or not they'd be helpful to me and made my way back to Derek. His eyes flashed up at me before back towards his laptop. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, you know," I said shakily, "I wanted to make sure I was picking the right books. Don't want to keep coming back here for the same thing, right?" I tried to casually laugh, but it sounded forced and too fake to me. Thankfully Derek was too engrossed in his work to notice and he just grunted in response. Sighing, I started writing down a to-do list in my planner for the rest of the day and tried to shake off my most recent ghost experience. I snorted, if only Wiley knew. He'd have a cow!

Something in the corner of my eye caught my attention and I looked up to see what it was. Mr. No-talky-ghost-man was standing across the room from me. Just watching. Not attempting to get any closer. I rolled my eyes. Seriously, someone needed to tutor that guy about being a ghost.

'Cause he was failing.

 **A/N: Thank you** **PissedOffTheVamp!** **for reviewing! Your reactions made me laugh! Next chapter might be next week? No lo se. Review will spur inspiration, though!**


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks passed by in a blur thanks to homework, mid-terms, and papers. I was especially excited for this weekend, though, because Kit and Tori were coming down to visit us for a family fun night. I had laughed when Simon titled it because it had made Derek scowl, but, I mean, it was a pretty accurate name. We were planning on going somewhere nice for dinner, picking up a few movies, and playing trivia and board games well into the night.

It was gonna be so magnificently corny.

I was currently in my last class of the day: Cultural Anthropology. Usually it was one of my favorites, the Professor—Professor Longfellow—is one of the best lecturers this school has. She just talks in a way that keeps your attention on the topic at hand. Today I just couldn't focus. My ears were filled with a monotonous buzzing sound and my vision blurred and no matter how hard I tried to snap it back to normal, I couldn't.

It was the weirdest thing.

I blamed it on the fact that it was Friday and that my brain was just tired from the entire week. Which, in my opinion, was a fair excuse. I'd had three exams this week. My mind was kaput on all things education. The weather was turning sour, too. It was practically pitch black now when I finished with classes and even though it'd be freezing in the morning, during the day when I walked between classes, I'd burn up and sweat because the temperature had sky rocketed to the seventies.

It sucked.

Not as bad as day light savings, though. Which I hadn't had to deal with since we lived in the mid-west, thankfully. One of the many perks of living in California. That, and no snow. Or, not a lot of snow. Most places there was no snow. I haven't seen snow in my time here. Snow, snow, snow. I kinda miss it. It used to be so much fun making snow-men with mom and dad . . . or was it Aunt Lauren? My head felt fuzzy. I tried to remember who I made snow-men with, but why did it even matter? I wasn't making them now, so . . .

Wait.

Where'd my class go?

The lecture hall was empty. The teacher wasn't on the stage anymore standing against the podium, and the projector screen was rolled up high. My brows furrowed. Did class end without me noticing? But, I was at the end of an aisle. My classmates would've had to climb over my legs and backpack to get out of the row. It was one of my pet peeves—people who didn't at least try to help you get around them. Was I one of those people today? I didn't even feel anyone, though. I mean, someone must've touched me on their way out, right?

What the . . .

I shook my head, trying to alieve the fuzzy feeling and snap it back to attention, stuffed my things into my bag and scurried out of the lecture hall as quickly as possible. I checked the time on my cell phone, My class was let out over ten minutes ago.

Yikes.

Groaning and giving my head another soft shake, I walked down the hall towards the exit. I glanced outside real fast—just out of habit—and had to do a double take. Heavy balls of snow were falling from the sky and coating the grounds. I blinked, then thoroughly rubbed my eyes. I looked back out the window and blinked again. The snow was gone. "What the f—?" I whispered.

Walking over to the windowsill, I took a closer look at the scenery. There was no snow. There weren't even any signs of rain. I let out a long, shaky breath and placed my face in my hands. What was wrong with me today? I breathed in and out a few more times, trying to steady myself, before dropping my hands to my side. Turning back down the hallway, I came face to face with a familiar translucent figure.

I let out a small shriek and took a step back. "Don't d—do that!" I hissed. It was the same, sad faced, mangled skull ghost I'd met in the library a few weeks ago. He'd been following me around ever since.

It was really annoying.

He just looked at me again with his familiar looking sad eyes. He seemed to sigh—can ghosts sigh?—then looked out the window. He shook his head slightly, then looked back at me. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes now. It was pity. "W—what?" I asked defensively. "Don—don't look at me li—like that!"

He just shook his head again. Huffing out in frustration, I sped past him and out of the building. My anger kept my attention firmly in place until I got back to the apartment. The warmth of home plus the delicious smell coming from the kitchen loosened my muscles and I could feel the anger leaving my body.

Unfortunately, I could also still feel the cold tendrils of my shadow-like-spirit directly behind me.

Deciding I'd ignore him, I took off my layers and bee lined it for the kitchen. Simon stood over the stove, using a wooden spoon to stir some spaghetti sauce. Smiling brightly, I greeted him, "W—what's cooking, good loo—looking?"

Simon's head shot up and he smiled back. "Hey, Chlo'! I'm making a fan favorite tonight—spaghetti with homemade tomato sauce. I came closer to get a proper whiff and moaned with anticipation. Simon laughed, "Now, now, girl, calm down. Don't want bro to walk in and hear you moaning like that, do we?" He wagged his eyebrows.

Laughing loudly, I gave his arm a playful smack. I stared at the red, bubbling sauce with and odd fascination. I barely registered that my head had become fuzzy again. I loved it when Simon cooked for dinner. Usually when it was me or Derek, we'd make something simple, like chicken, or get one of those Marie Calendar pre-made meals. Simon, though, he loved to take time and make things from scratch. It was probably the artist in him. That's why he was in charge of dinner on Fridays. He didn't have any classes past twelve on these days so he'd make some great meals.

The sauce bubbled again.

It kind of looked like lava, but not as terrifying. Then again, how do I know lava would look terrifying? I've never seen it. I don't know anyone that's ever seen it. So maybe it looked beautiful, not terrifying. I've only seen it in movies, really. So maybe . . . just maybe . . .

"Chloe? Chloe!" Simon practically yelled in my ear, shaking my shoulder gently. "God, what dimension did _your_ mind wander off to?" He asked rhetorically and with a good natured laugh. I shook my head and blinked a few times.

Where _did_ I go?

"Sorry, did you say something?"

Simon gave me an exasperated look, "I only just told you about my entire day!" He looked up and shook his head, feigning disappointment. "You must really be tired if you can drown _me_ out."

I chuckled—a bit brokenly, but he didn't notice—and began to rub my eyes, "Yeah, you know, I think I'm gonna take a nap before dinner."

"Yeah," he agreed, "go do that. Or else you're likely to fall asleep with your face in your food!"

I left Simon and the kitchen and back to the room I shared with Derek. I turned around to close the door behind me and flinched when I saw my ghost-shadow. He stood at the end of the hall, but instead of shaking his head, or giving me pitying looks, this time he was crying.

That could _not_ be good.

 **A/N: Happy chapter! Please review (Or keep reviewing, like** **PissedOffTheVamp** **!) Next chapter will come soon? I just got a new job so I'm adjusting to the schedule, which means I have to figure out a new time that I can write. Hopefully I'll have that sorted by the end of the month.**


	5. Chapter 5

I hid in my room until I heard Kit and Tori's voices down the hallway, then I knew I couldn't skulk anymore or I'd risk someone thinking something was wrong. I mean, something _was_ wrong—I had a ghost crying at me—but they didn't need to know that. Not yet, anyway. I tilted my head so I could take another look at the mystery ghost.

Yup. Still crying.

I frowned. He looked vaguely familiar for some reason, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It was the shape of his brow, maybe? Or the cheekbones? I stared for half a second longer before shaking my head and getting off the bed. It was time for me to be social. So, after checking my hair and general appearance in the mirror, I ventured down to greet my family.

"K—kit!" I greeted cheerfully enough, though I bit the inside of my cheek after hearing myself stutter. I'd been doing that more and more lately and it was annoying the crap out of me. "Tori!" That was better.

"Chloe!" They said in unison and proceeded to take turns hugging me. "Simon," Kit said after we separated, "Is that your famous spaghetti sauce I smell?"

"Ugh, spaghetti _again_? Don't you realize what all those carbs are doing to my figure?" Tori sneered. Simon only laughed good naturedly though, knowing that no matter how much Tori complained about his food she'd always help herself to seconds.

"Yes, again. I do this on purpose, Tor!" He responded, "It's all part of my master plan, after all!" Tori rolled her eyes, but I saw her mouth flicker up in a smile for half a second.

"So when's Derek supposed to get home?" Kit asked again, this time after returning from sneaking a taste of the sauce from the kitchen. "I brought gifts for you all!"

"Gifts?" I asked, "What for?"

Kit shrugged, "No real reason." He walked over to the living room and settled in on the couch, "I was looking through a few old boxes I had in storage and found some stuff I thought you'd all like. I want to wait for Derek to arrive, though, before I start handing them out."

"Great," Tori muttered before sitting down herself, "hand-me-downs."

We spent the next half hour or so waiting for Derek by watching T.V and playing a few games. Well, really Simon kept thinking of new topics for Twenty Questions, hoping to stump Tori, but she guessed right every time. He was halfway towards a full on pout when Derek finally walked through the front door. "Hey," he greeted tiredly.

"Rough day at work, bro?" Simon asked. Derek just shrugged and took his jacket off before coming over to sit next to me on the couch.

Kit stood up and walked over to the bag he'd brought in and pulled out a tin box, "Well now that you're all here," he opened the box and started to hand each of us something. "Tori, here's a locket with the faces of my grandparents. I thought you might like that since you've been going through an antique-y phase." Tori 'ooohed' appropriately and inspected the engraving of the locket before opening it up and rubbing her thumb over the faces of her great grandparents.

"Simon, I thought this might bring back a few memories," he handed him a velvet bag and Simon gasped ecstatically.

"My old magic kit! I wonder if it still has—it does! Guys, look! It's an autographed picture of Houdini! I can't believe you still had this!"

Kit smiled proudly, "Of course I still had it. I'm like a hoarder that way. Derek, here, this should also bring back some memories for you." He handed him a small pocket book, bringing a slow smile to Derek's lips. "It's still in pretty good condition, I think."

" _Grimm's Pocket Book of Stories_ ," Derek read the cover, "I'd forgotten about this."

Simon snorted, "Don't know how, you had dad read it to you, like, every night."

"Shut up," Derek swatted at Simon but it was so halfhearted I couldn't help but laugh.

"And for Chloe," Kit handed me an old, worn photograph. I looked down at it and gasped.

"Your Aunt Lauren gave that to me ages ago," he told me, "It's from when she and your mother were growing up. I think it was taken at a cabin up in New York but I can't say for sure." He smiled apologetically.

I rubbed my thumb over my mother's face, then over Aunt Lauren's. They looked so young and so carefree, but that wasn't why I had gasped. I gasped because of the third person in the picture, standing smack-dab in the middle of my mother and aunt. He looked younger than what I was used to, but I could still recognize him. He was standing across the room from me, after all. Still crying.

It was the ghost.

It was my uncle.

 **A/N: Ooooh, the plot thickens! I know, it's short, but I wanted to prove I (and this story) am alive. My schedule shifted, like, twice after I got the job and I had to think about this chapter a bit before I was prepared to write it. Hopefully I can get the next one out before Christmas. Anyway, let me know what you thought! I'm always excited when I get reviews. Thanks to** **Justrockzyxxx** **,** **PissedOffTheVamp** **, and** **Shadowmere Consortium** **for your chapter 4 reviews! As for your question, Shadowmere C., let's just say it's still up in the air at this point ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

Later in the evening, the sleeping arrangements had been made. Tori would sleep in my bed while Derek would share Simon's and Kit would take the couch. Both Simon and Derek had tried to get him to take a bed, but he was adamant that he'd be fine and as it turned out, Kit's stubbornness could outlast both Derek's and Simon's. Who knew? I was just grateful it wasn't Derek on the couch because if it had been, I'd have had a much harder time sneaking out of the apartment. I needed some alone time to think and I also wanted to try to get my uncle to talk. I couldn't do that with Tori snoring next to me.

I stepped out onto the parking lot and pulled my jacket tighter around my body. My uncle was still lurking off to my side, still crying his silent tears. God, couldn't he get a new shtick or something? "Y—you're name's Ben, right?" I asked, trying to get a different reaction out of him.

Nada.

Groaning, I stomped my foot with impatience. "Look! I know who—who you are, so why—why don't you just stop w—with the wh—whole crying thing and just tell me w—what you want!" Still he did nothing. He said nothing to me, he didn't even try to say anything. All he did was keep crying and occasionally shake his head from left to right. Ugh! This was so annoying! Walking up to him—my feet making loud slaps against the concrete—I jabbed my finger at him and yelled " _Answer me!_ "

My face felt hot all of a sudden and my throat began to tighten so much it became hard to breathe. Ben looked just as stricken as me. He'd stopped crying and with wide eyes gaped at me with an open mouth. His jaw opened and then closed—then repeated the motion a few more times—he looked like he was trying to say something. "You've got—you've got to—" he whispered.

Walking closer, I asked hoarsely, "Got to—got to do what?"

"Find a way," he continued. It looked like it pained him to speak, which made no sense at all. He was dead. _Nothing_ should be hurting him anymore. It wasn't _possible_! I wanted to scream. Why were dead people so complicated?

"Find a way _to do what?_ " I prodded desperately. "Just tell me!"

His brows furrowed and suddenly he looked so much sadder than he previously did. He reached out his hand and it was just inches away from my face when he seemed to remember himself and pulled away again. "To make it stop," he finished.

Well that was lame.

All the muscles in my face tightened up with confusion, anger, and a million more emotions that whirled inside my body. Make _what_ stop? Why couldn't ghosts give a straightforward answer for once? They were dead, for Pete's sake! It wasn't going to kill them to be blunt! "What are you talking about?" I moaned, my fingers tangling into my hair. A small headache was building in the back of my skull. It was sharp and sudden and I knew it was created because of this conversation.

I felt nauseous. Like my stomach wanted to expel everything I'd eaten in the past ten hours. Curling over my middle, I felt saliva flood into my mouth. "What're you doing to me?" I asked because there was no way these sudden symptoms were natural. They had to be supernatural.

And the only supernatural around was currently my uncle.

Glancing up at him through half-lidded eyes, I was surprised to see him looking worriedly at me. His hands—both this time—were outstretched again and he looked very much like he was trying his hardest to comfort me. "I can't," he began but then cut himself off.

"What?"

"I can't help you—I can't—it's too soon, but—" suddenly his gaze turned fierce. His mouth set in a firm line and he made sure our eyes connected before he spoke again. "You _can_ , Chloe—you _can_ beat it! I know you can! I know—"

I never learned what else he knew.

His face shimmered and within seconds my uncle was gone. That wasn't right though. That wasn't . . . how spirits usually disappeared. Either they vanished completely—no shimmering—or they were banished and forced away. That seemed different, though, and I wasn't sure what to make of it.

My skin felt hot again. What was that? What was _any_ of that? What did Uncle Ben mean I had to find a way to make it stop? Make _what_ stop? How could I stop it? It didn't make any sense! And now he was gone and I couldn't ask him any more questions! Letting out an inhumane screech, I kicked the tire of one of my neighbor's cars. Why'd I have to see my uncle? My life—all our lives—were just starting to resemble something normal. Why couldn't the dead just leave me alone?

And why wouldn't my head stop hurting?

My fingers dug deep into my skull. The skin would definitely have crescent shaped dents in them, but with the way this pain was stinging, I'd be lucky if I didn't break skin. It felt like pressure—immense pressure—was building in the back of my head and I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming. Squeezing my eyes shut, I didn't know what to do or how to make this pain go away. "Stop," I whimpered.

"Stop."

"Stop."

" _Stop!_ " I shouted loudly, falling to my knees. I'd have scrapes for sure, but I didn't care. The pain was gone. I opened my eyes and this time I did scream. Covering my mouth with my hands, I tried to stop myself, but the damage was done.

"Chloe?" Derek's panicked voice accompanied the smack of the door hitting the wall behind it. "Chloe, what's—"

He didn't have to finish his sentence, it was obvious what was wrong.

Tears clouded my eyes, but even that couldn't dispel the vision of dozens of animal carcasses surrounding me in the middle of the parking lot. They just lied in front of me, like they were waiting for me to use them. To reanimate them. My stomach turned again.

"Chloe," Derek said softly, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I realized then how cold I was. Yes, normally Derek ran hotter than an average person, but right now I felt like an ice box next to him. I also hadn't noticed how hard I'd been shaking. "Chloe," he said again. I tried to look at him, but my eyes kept flickering back to the dead animals. "What happened?"

Shaking my head, I tried my best to answer, "I d—d—don't know. I—I—I did—didn't mean—n to—Derek," I tried again, "I d—din't even n—n—notice that I sum—m—moned anything. I don't—I can't—"

"Shh," Derek hushed me, pulling my body closer into his so that my face rested in the crook of his neck. I continued to make soothing noises, but I barely noticed them. I just—I couldn't—I could feel my mind begin to shut down. I couldn't process anything. No questions went through my mind, no concerns or anything. My last thought—my last thread of consciousness—was the one observation I had tried to convey to Derek.

I hadn't even realized I'd summoned them.

I hadn't noticed it at all.

 **A/N: Hihi! Sorry this has been a while! I got into a writing funk for a while but recently have come out of it! ...I also became obsessed with Star Wars in case you didn't notice... well, I've always been obsessed but you know, with the whole movie and everything...**

 **Anyway! Thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter/contacted me on my tumblr lol! That was great, I never get anon msgs or anything like that so that made my day!**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please review and let me know! Next chapter should be up before the end of the month!**


	7. Chapter 7

Everything was surreal. I knew what was going on around me—Derek carrying me back into the apartment, Tori and Simon yelling, Kit trying to calm everyone down—but it was like I was watching a TV show. Everything seemed to be happening _around_ me, not _to_ me. Wait. Was I in shock? Was this what shock felt like? I could feel the pressure of Derek's hands around my back and below my knees as he carried me, but I couldn't feel the warmth he always radiated.

Next I know I'm on the couch. When had that happened? Where did Derek go? Tori and Simon were still arguing. I could hear their voices, but couldn't make out the words. They sounded far away, like I was under water and they were above the surface. I wonder what they're talking about. Whatever it is, it's making Simon upset. Even with the shock I can tell that much.

I blinked—or I thought it was just a blink—but when I open my eyes again, sun is peaking through the window behind me. Where last night everything seemed dimmed and dulled down, now everything was sharp and bright. I groaned and hid my face in my hands, trying to hide from the sun.

"Chloe?" I heard Derek's voice call out. It sounded so very loud, almost like he was speaking directly into my ear. I groaned again, but brought my hands away from my eyes so I could see him. "Chloe, can you hear me?"

I simply nodded. I didn't want to speak, fearing what my voice would sound like. My throat felt dry and I could only assume my voice would reflect that fact. Derek sighed, his whole body relaxing. "Good," he breathed out. "Good," he repeated, then brushed away a strand of my hair. "You really scared me—all of us—last night."

I winced and tried to respond as softy as I could, "Sorry."

"What happened, Chloe?"

Wetting my lips, I tried to swallow before answering, "I—I don't know. One mo—moment I was talking to my un—uncle—"

"Your uncle?" Derek asked sharply. I nodded and his nostrils flared. "You should have told me you were seeing the ghost of your uncle, Chloe."

"I—I didn't know he was m—my uncle until las—st night! I s—swear!" I pleaded to him with my eyes, trying to convey my sincerity.

He believed me—thank god—and nodded for me to continue, "Th—then I got a headache and I th—think I tripp—pped and when I opened my eyes I saw—I saw what I'd—what I'd—oh god, Derek." Tears blurred my vision and my voice turned thick as my esophagus began to close. "What's happening to m—me? I feel like I'm los—sing my mind!"

"You're not—you're not losing your mind, Chloe!" Derek reassured my as best he could. He took both my hands into one of his and I started to shiver, just now realizing how cold I was. "We'll figure out what's going on. I promise."

A sigh sounded from behind Derek and immediately his shoulders rose up with tension. I glanced around his shoulder. It was Kit. He looked so defeated over on the other side of the room, leaning against a wall with a cold cup of coffee in his hand. "K—Kit?" I called out tentatively.

"Chloe," he responded, "I think we need to talk." He walked closer to the couch. "Derek," he said carefully, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, "would you give us a minute?"

"No."

"Derek," Kit chastised, but I cut him off.

"No, please," I looked between the two of them, "I want Derek to st—stay."

Nodding his head, Kit accepted my request with a simple, "Okay, Chloe." He kneeled on the floor next to Derek, and I sat up so I was no longer lying down on the couch. "Chloe," he started, then paused, trying to think how to properly start. "Do you remember when you kids were at the safe house with Andrew? Do you remember the woman named Margaret?"

I nodded. Of course I remembered Margaret. She turned us in to Edison because she was afraid of us.

Afraid of me.

"Right, well, do you remember if she told you anything about Necromancers or the—the side effects of it?"

"No," I told him. Derek stiffened even more than before.

"No?" He asked, making sure. "What about your aunt Lauren then? Maybe she mentioned it?"

Again, I shook my head.

"Chloe . . . did she ever tell you how your uncle died?"

I sucked in a breath. Why was he asking me all this? "He—he committed suicide."

"Yes," Kit said slowly, "but do you know why?"

"What? No, of course I don't!"

"Chloe," Kit began again. He kept saying my name. It was starting to get annoying.

"Dad—" Derek tried to intervene.

"No, Derek." Kit cut him off before he could even begin. "Chloe," there he goes again, with the name dropping, "I—and others, too—don't believe you uncle committed suicide due to normal causes."

"N—normal causes?" I almost snorted. What was normal about someone killing themselves? What a load of—

"I think he did it because he could see ghosts." He said quickly. Well, that shut my mind up. "Lauren suspected it, too. We thought that seeing ghosts—being able to see two different realms, the living and dead—messed with his head. And he's not the only necromancer known to—well, to commit suicide. Most do, or at least that's what it seems.

"Chloe, that's why Lauren joined Edison," What? "She didn't want what happened to her brother to happen to anyone else."

"What?" I asked the word that kept repeating in my mind, "I don't understand. What happened to him?"

"He lost his mind, Chloe," Kit said softly.

"You don't know that!" Derek said harshly, his grip on my hands tightening.

"Derek," Kit's voiced was laced with practice patience. "The evidence supports it. Chloe, have you been spacing out more than usual? Have you been losing track of time or using your powers without noticing?"

Yes, yes I was. But I wasn't going to admit that. Especially not in front of Derek. He worried too much already. So instead I told him, "No."

Kit sighed with relief and Derek's grip lessened. "Good, good. Those are the first signs—at least, I think they are. Edison did, too. We—Lauren and I—originally went to Edison to help our kind from these problems. Lauren wanted to find a cure for necromancers. Studies were showing that forty percent of necromancers were committing suicide after first showing problems with memory and time and that sort of thing."

"Why?" I couldn't help but ask. "Why just necromancers?"

"I'm honestly not sure, Chloe," he reached out to pat my knee. "Lauren thought it had something to do, like I said, with seeing between realms. Perhaps seeing the dead is just too much for the human brain to handle. Or maybe it's not a form of mental illness at all, and just a way for the brain to cope with the ghostly onslaught. From what I know, Edison hadn't experiment too much with the causes for what was happening.

"What I do know, though, is that whatever it is, you're at a higher risk for it. Your uncle was only nineteen when he died. Most necromancers are in their fifties, at least. And, considering how powerful you are, Chloe, I fear that might work against you in terms of this disease."

"So you're saying I'm go—going to what? Kill myself?" I asked, the idea seeming preposterous.

"I—I don't know, Chloe. I really don't know what might happen." Kit looked so unsure, so worried, like he was in the middle of some body of water and struggling to stay above the water. He really didn't know what was happening, or what would happen to me.

Well, crap.

 **A/N: A little later than I expected, but that's okay. Anyway, I'm trying to work out a new writing rotation schedule and so far it goes like this: Star Wars (if I have an idea in mind), GOME, Queen's Court (my original fic), then The Dawning. So yeah, I think I'll try to work out a rough, bi-weekly updating schedule.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed! If you did then please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

"Chloe," Derek's rough, angry voice sounded behind me, "this is a stupid idea! You need to stay home right now, you shouldn't be—"

"Shouldn't be _what_?" I cut off, my anger tramping down my stutter as I slammed several notebooks into my backpack. "Shouldn't be going to school? Shouldn't be living my life?" Taking a few deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth I looked up. Derek's brow was furrowed, his mouth set, and his eyes glowing softly. His wolf half was begging to coming out and protect me. It made my shoulders slump.

"Derek," I said softly before walking up and resting my forehead against his collar bone. "What Kit said it—it was bad, yes, but I can't—I can't just stop living. I can't try to hide away. There _is_ no hiding from this."

He said nothing, though I didn't expect him to. His actions spoke a thousand times louder anyway. He wrapped his arms around me and cradled me close to his body. I sighed, whishing that I could in fact hide, because if I could, I'd hide here, in Derek's embrace, forever. Knowing I couldn't though—or, more accurately, wouldn't—I stepped back and with a shaky smile said, "L—let's go."

Throwing his head back and growling one final time, he then cracked his neck and nodded, "Okay," he agreed, "let's go."

The drive to campus was a quiet one. Neither of us knew what to say to one another and we knew each other well enough not to try. Instead his right hand held my left over the gear shift. His thumb gently rubbed circles into my skin and every so often I'd give him an affectionate squeeze in response. Classes were—well, they were horrible. But they did help me keep my mind off the insanity thing. I put every ounce of focus and energy I had into taking notes, answering questions, and just paying attention to what the professors were saying. Kit listed lack of attention as a symptom of whatever was going on with me so I had to be on alert. I couldn't let my mind wander off. Not even for a second.

Around noon we had a two hour break. We usually spent this time in the library eating lunch and starting some homework. And even though Derek tried to persuade me otherwise, I wouldn't let today be any different. So we stowed away in our corner, at our table with our pre-made sandwiches and books splayed around us and worked in silence. I was halfway through an assignment for Professor Wiley when I came across a question I didn't have the answer to. I knew Google wouldn't be able to help with his homework—it never did—I sighed and scooched out my chair.

"What's up?" Derek asked. His eyes were downcast and it looked like he was just asking a casual question while reading for class, but I knew him. His shoulders were tenser than they were two seconds ago, and although his eyes looked downwards, they stared at one spot and didn't move—so he obviously wasn't reading.

"I need a—a book for Wiley's as—assignment."

"I'll come with you," he responded immediately and moved to stand up as well.

"Derek," I said sternly, "you don't have to b—baby me. I'll only be gone a f—few minutes, okay?"

Glaring at me, Derek only nodded once before readjusting himself in his chair. I walked away—all too away of the eyes burning into my back—towards the stair case and headed down a few levels until I was on the floor that I knew held books pertaining the supernatural. I found the book I needed with ease and was heading back for the stairs when, after turning a corner, I ran into Professor Wiley himself.

"Oh! S—sorry, Professor Wiley!"

"Not a problem, my dear," he said with a calm smile. "Ah, Ms. Saunders, right?" I nodded and he nodded in response. "Well, then, have a nice day," he side stepped me and was about to head down the stairs when I felt a compulsion run through my body.

"Professor Wiley!" I called out.

He stopped and turned around, "Yes?"

"I—I—I had a question—about something you talked about a little while ago—ah, necromancers?"

"Oh!" His eyes lit up, clearly happy to be talking about his class and passion. "Yes, what in particular?"

"Um, about the ins—insanity part? Could you tell me some more about that?"

"Of course, of course, well let's see here, ahh—" he looked around the stair well, "shall we step outside and talk about more comfortably? We're on a low level so no one will mind too much if we speak up a bit. I just nodded and followed him out to another table and sat across from him. He folded his hands neatly and placed them before him on the desk. "Necromancers, like many supernatural beings, are a common trope throughout most cultures. In almost every country—during almost every time period—there have been records depicting a human who could raise or somehow communicate with the dead.

"Now, see, I believe this has to do with humanity's fascination with the dead and the mystery that comes after it. We don't know what will happen after we die—even if you have a faith and believe something will happen, we don't _know_ —so, especially in the past, it's been . . . comforting for there to be someone within the community to reassure others that there is indeed another side and that our loved ones are happy and safe while watching out for us.

"However, in ancient context these people who can see into the undead are not usually sound of mind. Take the Oracle of Delphi, for example. Now here we see a human woman who could understand the gods—beings who also lived on a different plane than our own—and essentially be their voice, but it was also widely known that the Oracle was an invalid. She could barely sit up straight on her tripod. She had to have priests translate her words because even though she could understand the gods, the normal human could not understand her. She was also relatively weak and prone to seizures—or so the texts imply.

"Although there could be many other reasons behind this behavior of hers—smoke, abuse, malnourishment, what have you—there are many other cases of people like her who were also not completely sane. I could go into them more, but here I wouldn't do them justice. So perhaps if you're still interested I can refer you some reading material. Anyway, I've gotten off topic. Necromancers and their mental illness, yes. So, similarly to the Oracle of Delphi, it seems that whenever anyone has an ability to see something no one else can see—gods, ghosts, future visions—their hold on reality . . . loosens. The psyche stretches to reach out to these different plains. It expands outwards and is supposed to contract once the necromancer has finished their business.

"But just think of a rubber band, if you will. It starts off nice and stretchy—very easy to pull it one way or the other and snap it back into place, but the more you stretch it, the looser it becomes. Its elasticity weakens until you either have a very stretched out rubber band that it loses its effect, or it snaps and breaks apart."

"Is there any way to st—stop it?" I asked suddenly, my stomach turning over with nausea.

"What? Oh, well that's an interesting question. One that, unfortunately, I don't have an exact answer to. I suppose there could be countermeasures—mental therapy, perhaps, but I wouldn't be able to say for sure."

"But isn't there anyone like m—like—like a necromancer wh—who overcame their insanity?" I knew my tone was desperate. Wiley's cocked brow assured me of that, but I didn't care. There had to be somebody like me who'd beaten this insanity thing.

"Well . . . there was one story that hinted along the lines of recovery, but it's very vague . . ." I nodded for him to continue. "Have you ever heard of the Lady of the Lake?"

"Like," I said slowly, "the Kind Arthur Lady of the Lake?"

"Yes, exactly. So, there are many myths surrounding her but a main theme is that, for a time, she safe-guarded Excalibur until he was prepared to wield the blade. But, Excalibur was a sword of immense power. It could only be wielded by the true ruler of England and, some say, could see inside your very soul in order to determine your worth. Some also say that it brought out your true self tenfold. For Arthur, this meant he became an even better man and king, but for others who were . . . less worthy, it brought out their darker side.

"Now, King Arthur was the only one who could wield it without becoming effected by its abilities. And even thought the Lady of the Lake held onto it, not even she could fight off Excalibur's abilities all on her own, so she took the sword and fled to the Lake of Avalon. It was said that the island of Avalon, and the lake it resided in, held mystical properties. And so, desperate not to fall under the temptation of the power of Excalibur, the Lady of the Lake—Vivien, some had called her—took off for the Lake of Avalon and submerged both herself and the sword in the lake. There, the powers of Avalon and its waters protected Vivien's mind and soul from the insanity Excalibur would have driven her to."

"So I'd have to l—live under a lake?" I deadpanned.

"I'm sorry?" Wiley asked, confused.

Shaking my head, I sighed. "It's nothing. F—forget I said anyth—thing. Thanks, Prof—professor Wiley, for telling me all that." I tried to smile. "It was really int—interesting."

Giving me a concerned look now, he leaned in closer to me. "Are you all right, Ms. Saunders?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that I'd be fine when Derek's voice sounded behind me. "Chloe! Chloe, there you are—oh, hi, Professor Wiley." I could tell Derek had been about to yell at me, probably for taking so long and scaring him, so his immediate change in demeanor once recognizing Wiley across from me made me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

"Hello, Mr. Souza. I was just talking with Ms. Saunders here about class. Would you like to join us?"

"Oh—ah, no—thanks, Professor, but no. We—ah, actually have to get going soon. We've got another class coming up."

"Ah, but of course. Well Ms. Saunders," he stood up and I followed suit, "if you have any more questions, or ever just need someone to talk to, you're welcome to visit me during my office hours."

"Thanks, Professor Wiley."

After a few more awkward smiles, Derek led me back to our table so we could gather up our items. "What was that about?" He finally asked as we walked out of the library.

I shrugged, "Nothing, re—really. We just talked ab—about the Lady of the Lake, pretty m—much."

"The Lady of the Lake?"

"Yeah," I told him with a nod and kept my eyes forwards. "Apparently her name was Vivien."

"Huh," Derek looked at me strangely, like he wasn't sure if I was telling him everything, which I wasn't. "Weird."

"Yup." Shaking away thoughts of Wiley, Avalon, and Necromancers, I looked up and smiled at him. Grabbing his hand I gave it a little tug which caused him to smile, too. "Come on, only two more class and then we can go home."

Sighing, Derek's smile widened, "Ah! Finally!"

 **A/N: This chapter ended up being much better than I expected so whoo! Next chapter will be up in about 2 weeks, give or take a week. Please review and let me know what you thought!**


	9. Chapter 9

My bright computer screen bathed my face in its light as I searched the internet for more information on necromancers while Derek snored soundly beside me in our bed. It was past four in the morning, and I knew Derek wouldn't approve of me staying up so late, but I couldn't—and didn't want to—fall asleep. If I went to sleep and my . . . rubber band of a mind stretched outwards again, I might summon something—or something _s_. I didn't want a repeat of the other night. I wanted answers. After my conversation with Professor Wiley, I spent hours looking into the Oracle at Delphi and the Lady of the Lake, but then I ventured off in an attempt to find other known necromancers.

There was Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. There wasn't much known about her life, just rumors spread from the modern occult following. Though, if what they say is true, then she befriended Papa Ghede, the Voodoo god of the crossroads, and sacrificed innocent lives to keep herself young and immortal. Which, sounded terrible in my opinion, but then again another source said she was a leader of the community and a generous soul. So, not very helpful in terms of details, but there was nothing about insanity or anything like that, which was slightly reassuring.

Harry Houdini was apparently believed to be a necromancer by some, and he died in his fifties. . . well, much less reassuring, but also no signs of insanity. I went on and on to read about other notable people, whether historical or mythological, through the night. Some lived happily ever after—as I'm sure some modern day necromancers did, while others. . . did not. I sighed and rolled my neck, realizing it had stiffened. There would probably be a kink in it tomorrow morning, but I'd deal with that later. Placing my laptop on the bed-side table next to me, I burrowed down in the sheets and gazed blankly out the window into the dark night. I wish I knew what was going to happen to me. I wish I knew what Edison did to me—to us. My fingers found my pendant and stroked the cool gem, wondering if my mother knew what they did to me when I was still in the womb.

My mind drifted back to the last time I tried to summon her to speak with her. My body shuddered at the thought. It was back in the safe house. It didn't work. I shook my head, and tried to dispel the memories. My dad, though . . . maybe my dad knew what had been done to me. Maybe he knew about some experimental trial my mom had agreed to. Then again, I haven't spoken to my father in years. Not since before the safe house. I missed him, but I couldn't trust him. He thought all that was wrong was a mental illness and that Edison could fix me. He lived in a different world. A simpler one where no one was out to get anyone else. I wished I could return to that world, but every time I'd reached out to him before, it'd come back to bite me in the butt. Maybe one day I'd be able to safely talk to him again, but I couldn't see that happening any time soon.

Besides, I was happy with my life. I had Derek and the others—they were my family. I was in school, getting an education. I wasn't being hunted by Edison anymore. Life was . . . good. Well, it could be better if I didn't think I was losing my mind. That would have helped things.

Opening my eyes, I stared back out the window for who knows how long. The edges of my vision began to blur as I let myself slip away. I could feel my breathing deepen and slow down within my chest. It felt almost like I was sleeping, but my eyes were still open. I wondered dully if this was how people felt when sedated for surgeries. It wasn't awful, if I was being honest. I'm not sure how long I would have remained in that state if something out the window hadn't grabbed my attention. Something had moved past the glass window and my eyes flitted towards it, trying to focus on whatever it was.

Sitting up and pushing the covers down, I swiftly rolled out of bed and walked over to see what was outside. I couldn't see anything. At least, nothing out of the ordinary. There was the grass yard that surrounded almost all sides of the apartment building—save the side leading out to the parking lot—and then the trees and bushes beyond that. There wasn't anything special going on outside, so I furrowed my brows, wondering what had caught my attention. Looking off to the left and the right—as far as the window allowed me to see—I don't know why this bothered me so much. I could have just been an owl or some other wildlife, but still my brain wouldn't give up. I huffed out a frustrated breath and pressed my face to the glass for one last, thorough, look.

I was just about to give up when I saw it—or rather, saw her. A woman stood, halfway hiding behind a thicker tree trunk, looking in directly at me. I reared back, gasping when we made eye contact. The woman smiled. It was a sharp and cruel looking twist of her mouth. Her eyes glowed eerily in the dark—though I couldn't tell if that was because of the moon's reflection or because or a supernatural cause. I stepped back, and looked over my shoulder, "Derek," I whispered, trying to wake him up.

"Hmm?" He mumbled, turning over to he could blink his bleary eyes at me. I looked back out the window and my breath got stuck in my throat. The woman was gone. I stepped forward, trying to see if I could find her again, but there was nothing. And this time, it was really nothing. "Chloe?" Derek's muffled voice called out, "What's up?"

"N—nothing," I told him, still looking out the window. Maybe it was a ghost? But no, I would've been able to sense that if it were the case. I slowly walked backwards until the back of my legs hit the bed, causing me to sit down. "It was—I just had a d—dream." Derek hummed and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me down to the mattress and then against his chest before falling back to sleep. I wasn't going to sleep any time soon, though. My mind went back to the woman. If she wasn't a ghost, who was she then? _What_ was she? Was she even . . . I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed thickly . . . was she even real? God, I hoped so. If she wasn't . . . and I saw something that wasn't there—like, _really_ wasn't there—I don't know what I'd do. Oh God, I'm falling apart.

 **A/N: Here you go! A little short, but not that bad. Next chapter might take a little bit longer. I'm hella busy right now but my schedule will clear up at the end of this month so don't worry if there's a short hiatus. It'll only be a few weeks at most and I can use that time to figure out where this plot is going! As always, please review and let me know if you enjoyed the fic!**


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn broke over the horizon the next morning and I laid in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the window. I'd been staring at it all night, unable to sleep. With the calming light of day, and several hours to think about what I had seen, I was able to determine the figure I saw outside wasn't a ghost, but had definitely been real. A woman had been standing by a tree watching into their apartment. What for, I had no idea. Her eyes, though . . . I twisted my neck so I could look over my shoulder at Derek . . . her eyes glowed similarly to Derek's when he transformed. With my brain coming down from its paranoia riddled high, I was able to think much more clearly. The woman had been a werewolf. Of course! But why was she spying on us? My mind whirled back to when there werewolves tried to recruit Derek into their pack. Could that have something to do with it?

I hoped not.

Derek's eyes began to flutter open. I quickly turned my head back around and closed my own, pretending to be asleep. Derek was an early riser, always had been. I, however, was not. If he saw me awake this early—god, was it even six yet?—he'd know something was wrong. I didn't want him to worry. At least, not any more than he already was. The bed jostled as he stretched out his arms and legs and then again as he rolled out of it. His feet made no noise as he walked, but I knew he was heading to the bathroom to take a shower. Although Derek himself was the embodiment of silence, the door to our room was not. It squeaked as he pulled it shut behind him. Sighing, I turned onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

"—hopefully it doesn't run too late tonight, but you never know with these things, right?" Derek's voice filtered through my ears and was slowly computed by my brain. "Chloe?" He asked, coming closer to peer down at me with an amused expression. "You listening?"

"Sorry, what?" I blinked several times. Didn't he just leave? A drop of water from his hair fell onto my nose. How'd he shower so fast?

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing together, "Sorry, were you asleep? I thought I saw your eyes open."

Realizing what had happened—I'd zoned out again—I winced and quickly lied, "Y—yeah, I was, but then, uhh, I fell asleep while you were talking. Sorry." Wow, there were a lot of sorry's being thrown about this morning. Three in one minute? Unheard of.

Chuckling, Derek shook his head and backed away, "I'm not surprised. I'm glad you're getting some extra sleep, so it's whatever."

"What were you saying, though? Start over."

"Oh, just that I have an exam tonight at eight. It should take too long. I know the material really well, but you never know. So I might be late." He pulled a shirt over his head, then shook out some of the excess water from his hair.

"All right, thanks for letting me know." I smiled at him. It was probably a tighter smile than I would have liked, but he was too busy putting his socks on to notice. "Derek," I started suddenly. Hesitantly. "Do you know if there are any packs in the area?"

"Packs?" His head snapped up, "As in werewolf packs?" He shook his head vigorously. "No. None. It's too urban for packs here. Less places for them to hide when things . . . go wrong. Why?"

"No reason. I ahh—had a dr—dream about them last night. That's all."

Smiling sweetly, he walked over and pressed a tender kiss to my lips, then my forehead. "Don't worry, Chlo'. We'll never have to deal with the packs ever again." He turned and walked out of the room to continue preparing for the day. His words kept repeating in my head. Brushing my hair back with my fingers, I sure hoped he was right.

God, did I hope.

 **A/N: Hi there! Yes, I and this fic are alive. I know it's short, but I wanted to let you all know that I haven't given up this fic. I just had a few mental blocks to muscle through. For one, I've got a clearer look in terms of plot so whoo! Hopefully now I can start pushing out a chapter a week and we can wrap this bad boy up before summer's end!**

 **Side note-I changed my name on tumblr to scribomaniac. Highhosilverwings is my main blog and someone who I don't feel comfortable sharing the fact that I write follows that one so if anyone ever wants to ask about updates for fics or see some of my other writing, scribomaniac is the blog to check out!**

 **As always, please review and let me know what you thought!**


	11. Chapter 11

That night, while Derek was away taking his exam, I waited in the living room for Simon to come home. He was due any minute. His job at the University's art library ended at seven and it was almost seven thirty. Derek left for his text just a few minutes ago. I pulled my legs up close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. Staring at the door with anticipation, bit at my lip and wondered exactly what I'd say. The sound of a key being pushed into the key hole made my spine straighten. No more time to wonder about how to break it to him. Simon was home.

"Hey, Chlo'," Simon greeted with a lazy salute of his hand. He threw down his backpack and stretched, no doubt about to make his way towards the kitchen to warm up some leftovers.

Before he could take a step in the room's direction, I called out, "Simon—" there must have been something in the tone of my voice—panic, hysteria, desperation—that made him look at me sharply. The muscles around his face had tightened as he waited for me to continue. Taking a breath, I said, "Can I t—talk to you about something?"

Eyes glinting warily, he slowly walked towards my spot on the couch, "Sure." He sat down next to me and angled his body in my direction. I had his full attention. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

"I—I don't . . . know," I admitted. A blush burned its way onto my cheeks. The thing was, I really didn't now if something was wrong. Well, there was something wrong with me . . . I couldn't focus worth a damn anymore—no! Focus, Chloe! Shaking my head to straighten out my thoughts, I continued, "Nothing has really happened yet, b—but I'm worried. Last night . . . last night I saw—well, I'm n—not exactly sure what I saw." I released a hot huff of air, frustrated with myself. "I thought I saw a woman outside our—Derek's and my—window. She was—or, I thought she was—staring in at us. And her eyes . . . they glinted. S—sort of like a—"

"Werewolf." Simon finished for me. I nodded and waited while he processed what I said. It took a while. Simon sat completely still as she stared blankly at the TV in front of him. Eventually though he tilted his head and took in a deep breath and held onto it for a moment before letting it out. "Have you told Derek?"

I shook my head no, "I didn't want to worry him. Especially if it turns out to be nothing, you know?"

He nodded and then dragged a hand down his face. "The thing is," he began, "there shouldn't be any werewolves here. It's too—"

"Urban, yeah. That's what Derek said."

"Right, I mean, they could form a pack here, but it's be pretty stupid to be honest. The nearest forest isn't for miles. But . . . well, if you saw one . . ."

" _Think_ I saw one," I corrected, though my gut twisted, telling me otherwise.

"Well if you see one again—even if you just think you see one—let me know. Immediately. I don't care what time it is or where I'm at—you let me know." He stared into my eyes. Unwavering and unblinking until I nodded. Then, it seemed, some tension seeped out of his shoulders. "Dammit," he mumbled, now aiming his gaze at the ground. "We can't deal with packs again. We just can't."

"M—maybe this time it'll be different. If there's even a pack at all."

"Maybe," he agreed, but still looked highly unconvinced. I stared at him for a few more moments of silence and began to chew on my lip again. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Simon straightened up and gave me a bright, comforting smile. "Hey," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Don't worry so much, Chlo'. Like you said, it might not have even been a werewolf. Who know," he laughed, "maybe you just have a stalker." He poked me in the ribs until I smiled. A stalker. It would be my luck. "Until we know more all we can do is, "he stood up and walked over to the door and locked it, "be cautious and live our lives. Now, I'm gonna go stuff my face with some freaking awesome tacos. Want some?"

I knew he'd be worried if I declined so I nodded and gave him the best, not worried, smile that I could. "Yeah, that sounds delicious!"

"Great!" He clapped his hands together. "I'll go get those going and in the mean time why don't you channel surf and find something good for us to watch. Deal?"

Grabbing the remote and waving it at him I smiled for real this time. "Deal."

 **A/N: Shortie but sweetie. Also it's me lying the ground work for the next chapter. Things are about to get intense! Angsty too, probably. Please leave a review! They always make my days better to know someone is out there reading and enjoying the fic. Also, thank you to Icekat-Druid for the review last time and letting me know about Chloe's stutter. I decided to tone it down a bit so I hope I did that sufficiently.**


	12. Chapter 12

Over the next few weeks, I couldn't explain it, but I felt like in was being watched. I kept looking over my shoulder expecting to find someone looking back, but it never happened. Eventual began to wonder if this paranoia was another side effect of my deteriorating mental state. For all I knew, it could have been. I'd even seen my uncle, once again crying, during these times of paranoia. I couldn't say that was too reassuring, though. Sometimes I wished he'd talk to me, but he never did. He'd just stand off in the distance, crying and sometimes shaking his head. Other times I wished he'd just move on and leave me alone.

Derek was growing suspicious. I guess I'd zoned out one too many times and activated his protective instincts, but since he didn't know what he needed to protect me from, he was being kind of pissy. His patience was dwindling by the day and heaven forbid you were in his path when he was in a mood. It didn't help that Simon had been disappearing regularly the past few weeks, either. Whenever one of us asked where he went off to, he'd evade the question of shrug us off. I didn't understand. He said he'd take care of it-it being the possible werewolf-and then he up and dusted. It wasn't like him.

I couldn't do anything about, well, anything anymore. I felt useless. Even if I was lucid long enough to sleuth about for Simon's secret, I wouldn't know where to start, and what with my mind being in its current state . . .

A bunny hopped past me, making me smile. It was such a cute little thing. I watched it hop away until it found shelter beneath a bush. I looked up, intending to continue my walk to . . .wait, where was I walking to again? I was on campus so was I going to class? Did I just finish a class? Dammit! I was doing so good! What got me this time? I looked around again, trying to retrace my steps and figure out what steered my train bought of course.

Oh, what a cute bunny! It darted out beneath a bush and started hopping towards the street. A car was coming. Bunny. Car. Oh no! I ran after the bunny, it's survival the only thing on my mind. I wasn't quick enough though, and a car's tire made the cute bunny go splat. The driver didn't even stop. It just kept on like nothing had happened. Frowning, I walked closer to the dead thing. "Poor bunny," I whispered to myself. Then it's ears twitched, and it picked its caved in skull off the pavement and hopped back towards me. I smiled and reached my hand out to pet it, glad it was alive again.

No-no! I screamed at myself, forcing my hand to fall and forcing the bunny to fall back to the ground; returning it to its corpse state. I looked around, hoping no one had seen what I'd just done. This was bad, oh God, this was bad. I just raised a rabbit from the dead in broad daylight! Shit, I was looking it. Fast. Then I felt it, the prickling sensation in the back of my neck. Standing up and turning around, trying to catch whoever was watching me, all I saw were fellow students. They were all off in their own worlds, heading here or there. Most likely on their way to class.

Class! I gasped. Carp, I was late to class! Forgetting all about the sensation on my neck, or the incident with the bunny, I hustled my way towards Jessup Hall. Hopefully I'd be able to slither in without too much notice from my class mates.

Fortunately, no one in my class paid me any mind. Unfortunately, I zoned out for the entire duration and somehow ended up back in my apartment. I stood in the living room with a confused scowl on my face. What was my life anymore? Checking my phone, my jaw dropped when I saw the time. How was it already six o'clock? I wondered if I had eaten yet. Placing a hand on my belly, I figured I was hungry enough to eat something. I didn't want to cook anything, though—what if I zoned out again and accidentally set the apartment on fire? Deciding for something simple, I poured myself a bowl of cereal.

It didn't take me long to finish my bowl, and even though it was early, I decided to go to bed. I felt especially off today. Mostly because I couldn't remember much of it. Maybe I was just tired—college did that to people, right? Made them tired?—so hopefully a few extra hours of sleep would do me some good. Derek wouldn't be home until much later tonight, and he wouldn't expect me to stay up for him.

I didn't wake up when Derek came home, or when he crawled in to bed next to me. Eventually, though, I did wake up when I felt hot, moist breath hitting my face. Moaning and scrunching up my nose, I buried down into the sheets. "Derek," I groaned. He groaned from behind me and pulled me closer to his chest. The hot, breathy air, didn't stop thought. Again, I groaned, "Derek."

"What?" He muttered into my hair.

"Stop breathing on my face."

"I'm not," he sighed, "breathing in your face." His arm tightened around my waist.

Brows furrowing, I blinked my eyes open. It was still dark in the room so it was probably still early. Derek was right, though. Now that I was more awake I realized that since he was behind me, there was no way Derek could be breathing on me. Looking up, I screamed when I saw a par of yellow eyes staring back at me. A woman stood above us, staring down with a smile twisting her lips. Smile widening when I screamed, she lunged. Derek—who must have been utterly exhausted to not have noticed someone trespassing into our room—wouldn't have been able to stop her from doing . . . whatever it was she was planning on doing.

Her lung didn't amount to much, thankfully. Two inches away from me, her eyes went wide and her body was flung across the room into the wall. "What the—?" Derek yelled, hopping out of bed and stepping in front of me. His eyes had turned bright yellow. Sitting up, I saw two figures standing in the doorway. Two men stepped forward, but since it was still dark I could barely make out any of their features. "Who are you?" Derek bit out, taking a threatening step forward.

One of them men stepped forward with his arms raised in surrender to get closer to the female werewolf and magically lift her out of the way. So they were sorcerers. "W—what are you do—doing here?" I asked.

After the one sorcerer made off with the werewolf, the other one stayed behind and said, "The Cabal send their regards."

 **A/N: Heyyyyyyy I'm back (kinda). My goal is to finish this fic before its one year mark. Can anyone help a chica out and tell me which relies on hand motions: sorcerers or witches? I can't remember who works with words and who works with hand movements and the wiki site won't tell me :(**

 **Let me know what you thought, though! A review always helps to keep the motivation going!**


	13. Chapter 13

An hour after the attack—or the near miss of one—Derek had chased after the Cabal sorcerers in an attempt to get answers, but soon returned with no luck and quickly changed gears to calling Kit, Simon and Tori. Tori and Simon didn't pick up, which wasn't all too surprising given it was early in the morning. Simon had gone to a party last night and had most likely decided to spend the night. Kit, though, Kit picked up almost immediately. "What the hell was the Cabal doing there?" Kit's voice pierced through the night's silence. "Why were they protecting you? And a werewolf?" He sounded panicked and outraged. "I'm coming down now. Don't go to your classes. Call of work—do whatever you need to. Just don't leave your apartment!"

The line went dead after Derek promised they would do as he said. I stared out the kitchen window, watching the sky slowly get lighter and lighter as the sun began to rise. I wished I could go back to sleep and pretend none of this had ever happened, but I knew the moment I closed my eyes again I'd see that werewolf's glowing eyes. Swallowing thickly, and pushing down the tang of bile that rose in the back of my throat, I looked at Derek. "What's happening?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "I thought—I thought we were d—done with all of this. Af—after Edison . . ."

"We are done with this." Derek said, his green eyes flashing with half concealed wildness. He kneeled down in front of where I sat and reached up to cup my cheeks between his hands. "Don't worry, Chloe. I promise you that we are done with this. We are never getting sucked back in again."

I leaned into his hand and closed my eyes. A part of me wished I wasn't such a coward. That I would confide in him what was going on with me. What was possibly—probably-happening to my mind. I'd debated telling him for a while, especially after the bunny incident. But now with this—whatever this was . . . it was an excuse for me to hide my secret a bit longer. And I latched onto that excuse with everything I had.

Derek's phone began to ring again and he quickly picked it up. "Simon?" He answered. "Simon, where are you?" Derek told Simon everything that had happened. How the werewolf had gotten in, how she'd almost attacked me, how the Cabal save us. They talked for a while, and I don't know when, but soon, I think, soon after they started my mind was lost. Everything was fuzzy and everything sounded like it was underwater. And I didn't care.

"Chloe? Chloe," Derek's hand touched my shoulder, jostling my mind back to the now.

"Huh? Sorry," I blinked several times. "What time is it?" How long had I been out? I looked at the digital clock above the stove and winced. A full hour had passed—well, and hour and thirteen minutes, technically. "Sorry," I said again, noticing Derek's worried gaze. "I'm just tired, I guess." He nodded his head I understanding but the flicker of worry was still there. He'd be watching me a bit more closely from now on, I know it. Maybe that's a good thing.

"Simon's coming home, but he's gotta stop off at work and grab a few things first."

"What? But Kit said not to do that."

Derek winced and rubbed the back of his neck, "I know, I tried to get him to come straight home but he was insistent. He must have left something really important in his work locker or something. Maybe his drawing books . . . " he shook his head, "You know how stubborn Simon can be. It was faster to agree to his pit stop than to try and convince him to come straight home." I smiled. He had a point. Sometimes it was faster just to step aside and let Simon do his thing. "So," Derek said abruptly, a devious, wolfish smile stretching across his face. "Since we're stuck in here until Kit gets here, why don't we enjoy it, huh?" He opened up a pantry door and pulled out pancake mix. "I say we make a big breakfast and then get in to bed and watch Netflix."

I laughed as he waggled his eye brows, "Derek! Did you just proposition me with _Netflix and Chill_?" A loud, cruel cackle escaped my lips as I threw my head back in disbelief.

"Maybe," he growled and prowled towards me. "Maybe this Cabal thing is the best excuse for a vacation we've gotten in years." He bent low and nuzzled me neck, breathing in my scent, and hummed.

I turned my head slowly, my nose tracing a line over his brow. He gazed up at me, a soft smile on his lips and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Humming, I brushed my lips against the bridge of his nose. "So what do you think?" He asked, a low rumble sounding from his chest.

"I think," I breathed out, a small smile now gracing my own lips, mirroring his. "I think you'd better get started on those pancakes."

Nipping at my earlobe, making me shiver by using his canines, Derek then gave me a quick peck to my cheek before bouncing backwards and pulling out more ingredients.

We ate, playfully stealing bites of gooey pancake off of each others plates, making ourselves absolute messes while doing so. Then we showered together. I loved washing Derek's hair. It always made him purr like a kitten and felt so soft and silky twirling through my fingers. We made it into bed, naked and still damp from the shower, and barely decided on a movie when Derek began to drag his fingers up and down my hip and ribs.

Derek was right, I thought hours later as I curled into Derek's side. My nose nuzzled the curve of his neck and he hummed a satisfied hum as he dragged his fingers down the ridges of my spine. The sounds of Spock and Kirk fighting some bad guys played out in the background. We'd probably need to take another shower before Simon got back, I thought idly. Then wondered when that would be. Enough time had passed. Should we be concerned? Before I could bring it up, Derek's phone began to ring. He groaned and stretched his arms high above his head. I kissed his chest lightly before he rolled off the mattress to get his phone. "It's Simon," he told me before answering. I let out a sigh of relief and then got off the bed myself, heading for the bathroom.

Steam flooded into the room once I finished my shower and re-entered our bedroom. Tucking a towel around mt body, I stepped towards the closet, but stopped when I saw Derek's face. "Derek?" I asked hesitantly, taking a step towards him. His phone was on the floor, lying there as if it'd slipped from his hand. "Derek, what's wrong?"

His eyes found mine, and I was shocked to see tears glistening in them. "It's Simon," he started and my breath caught in my throat. "He's with the Cabal."

 **A/N: Finally, an update! (amiright?) I'm glad I was able to finally update this fic, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed and been following it. I hope I can continue to deliver chapters, but to be honest this fic has been a bit hard for me. I just haven't had interest in it for a while. So if any of you have any encouraging words or advice on how to get reinterested, please let me know. That being said I don't want to leave you guys on a cliff hanger, so we'll see what happens, I guess.**


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